


Leonie Pinelli Doesn't Get A Dog

by Laperclip



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Gen, T for swearing, don't make deals with faeries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25332394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laperclip/pseuds/Laperclip
Summary: There aren’t many magical beasties in the world that can stand up to salt, witch water, and the liberal application of silver bullets. Leonie makes a point to have all three in abundance stashed away in her fanny pack—which Lorenz will not let her live down, but it was half-off at Target and a damn sight more useful than his velveteen clutch—at all times. A good thing, too; last-minute hunting jobs are her specialty, apparently, because she doesn’t have any fucking hobbies.God, she really needs a dog or something. Living alone has seriously worn down her mental fortitude.
Relationships: Leonie Pinelli & Flayn (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	Leonie Pinelli Doesn't Get A Dog

There aren’t many magical beasties in the world that can stand up to salt, witch water, and the liberal application of silver bullets. Leonie makes a point to have all three in abundance stashed away in her fanny pack—which Lorenz will not let her live down, but it was half-off at Target and a damn sight more useful than his velveteen clutch—at all times. A good thing, too; last-minute hunting jobs are her specialty, apparently, because she doesn’t have any fucking hobbies.

God, she really needs a dog or something. Living alone has seriously worn down her mental fortitude.

Leonie slips a sprig of holly into her ponytail, pats her ass pocket for her keys, and double-checks she turned off the oven before leaving. (The last thing she needs tonight is _more_ fire.)

A chilly evening breeze steals in through the visor of her motorbike helmet and she breathes it as deep as she can manage, willing it to invigorate her. It doesn’t, and she’s a little spiteful on the exhale. Getting used to the cooling weather is a fresh kind of hell every year. She adjusts her gloves and glances at her phone one more time, just to make sure no new information has sprouted from Annette’s text in the four minutes since she last checked.

_[ **AD** ] → salamander sighted at pizza!! pls check asap if u can? will pay $$$ for mats :) _

> _“at pizza" ? ← [ **LP** ] _

_[ **AD** ] → omg osrry _

_[ **AD** ] → woody’s woodfired pizza, timotheos st _

> _Sure thing ← [ **LP** ] _

Worried that she came across as too abrupt, Leonie sends a quick smiley as well. It’s an uncharacteristically brief exchange coming from Annette, but the witch has been run off her feet with coven work lately, so at least the pay will be good. And salamander fire can be nasty if they’re agitated (the stuff doesn’t burn out on its own), so it’s probably better for everyone to get rid of it before it causes trouble.

Another text pops up as she’s about to stash her phone.

_[ **AD** ] → i seriously owe u for this thank u ily!!!!!! _

“Mm, sure,” Leonie mumbles, flicking her visor down. Annette doesn’t owe her nearly as much as she thinks she does, but Leonie has lost that argument before.

  


\--

  


Woody’s Woodfired Pizza is far from the most popular joint in the city, but it’s been a favourite of Leonie’s for years. The old couple who owns it treat their employees fairly, which is more than she can say for most food places in the city, and it’s cheap to boot. Their signage is weathered and familiar, and the menu hasn’t changed in years. Domino’s couldn’t hope to measure up.

Leonie steps into the warmth and lets the smell take her far away for half a moment. Inside is blessedly warm, but she’s not here to loiter. She removes her gloves, stashes them in her bottomless fanny pack, and takes stock: one visible staff member behind the counter, three teenagers milling about the seating area, and a sallow man leaning against the far wall. 

That’s too many bystanders for her liking. She could probably put two of them to sleep if she’s fast enough, but the fatigue is never worth it unless it’s an emergency—and no one’s screaming fire yet, which is usually a good sign. Leonie decides to wait for the gossiping teenagers to leave on their own.

She leans against the counter to get the staff’s attention. He’s a chipper young man with far too much red hair piled under his hat, and he greets her with a charming smile. _Hi, my name is_ _Ferdinand_ adorns his nametag in curly green marker.

“Have you seen a lizard around tonight, by chance?” Leonie cuts the small talk entirely. Salamanders aren’t invisible, so someone will have seen it if it’s just wandered in. She wishes she’d pushed Annette for more information; she really doesn’t want to waste time here if it could be out starting fires elsewhere by now.

“Excuse me?” The young man’s expression falls into confusion when his rehearsed set of phrases prove inadequate for the conversation at hand. “O-of course not. That would be incredibly unhygienic,” he says, finding his composure in disdain for the line of questioning. “Why do you ask? Has an animal been breaking into eateries around here?”

Her eyes rove over the visible portion of the kitchen as they speak, and settle in shock at the wall behind him—she could swear it was nothing out of the ordinary a moment ago. “Something like that,” Leonie says absently.

She thought it would be a little harder than that, to be perfectly honest.

There’s a massive, fat amphibian sitting soundly between a mop and bucket and a tower of unfolded pizza boxes. It’s not like any salamander Leonie has ever seen. This one is the size of a pig, cream and seafoam green, and dripping wet. A puddle has gathered on the tile around it, lapping at Ferdinand’s heels as he speaks (—something about a lost pet; she’s stopped paying attention.) It’s a miracle he hasn’t seen it yet.

Or—magic, she realises flatly. Goddamn it. Salamanders don’t enchant people like that.

Not her usual schtick, but it is what it is. Whatever this thing is, it definitely shouldn’t be in a normal pizzeria. She’ll figure it out. Hopefully, Annette will pay her either way.

First, she has to deal with the bystanders.

“Can I have a mega pepperoni, thick crust?” she asks, interrupting Ferdinand’s confused, silence-filling chatter about reptiles. It’s an excuse to hang around longer, if nothing else.

“Certainly,” he chirps, writing it on a slip of paper before bustling back to work in the kitchen, completely oblivious to the way his shoes slap about in the growing puddle. He sets a stack of too many pizzas on the counter and calls an order number, which is collected promptly by one of the teenagers, and the three of them leave, taking all the noise in the room with them. Without their banter as a backdrop, the hum of kitchen fans becomes oppressive.

The creature in the puddle blinks at Leonie with big, round eyes. There’s too much intelligence in the directness of the gaze. Shit. Maybe she shouldn’t kill it. Relocating magical creatures is harder than peppering one with bullets, and with no hide to sell, the pay is worse.

Oh, she wishes Annette were more thorough with her damn sources.

The creature shifts its gaze to a point behind her, raising soft frills around its jaw as it recoils into itself (a monster axolotl, maybe?), and Leonie gets a distinct impression of fear from the thing.

It takes root in her own chest, too: a prickling at the back of her neck, an encroaching sense of dread. It takes everything she has not to bristle. Leonie becomes acutely aware of the sallow man behind her. He’s pushed off from the wall, but hasn’t moved further. She turns as far as she’ll allow herself; he’s staring at her, and he definitely saw her glance. Swallowing quietly isn’t as easy as it used to be.

Fucking hell. Leonie’s been around the block enough to know when to listen to her gut.

The sallow man glances at the front door for a long moment, and when no new customers enter, he approaches the counter. Leonie pushes off the counter and folds her arms, making it very clear that she’s watching his movements now. If in doubt, a direct approach usually gives her the upper hand. Or enough of one to give her a chance to pull a gun, at least.

He ignores her (how fucking rude) and stops just short of running into the counter, though he doesn’t lift his arms to meet it. His eyes are trained on the creature in the kitchen; it shrinks away from him as far as it’s able, frills quivering. The creature turns a pleading gaze onto Leonie, mouthing something that could be words, and she hates herself for what she does next.

It’s not her business, but god, that thing looks so pathetic. And she doesn’t trust this guy as far as she could throw him.

“If you’re here for the salamander, I’m gonna have to ask you to back off,” Leonie says sternly, and the man finally looks at her. His lavender eyes are sharp, and when he smiles, his teeth are sharper. The back of her neck goes cold; Leonie swallows back a primal fear response and stands her ground. “I’ve got this one.”

Ferdinand is humming to himself by the woodfire stove, politely occupied with the cheeses. City people are shockingly good at staying out of each other’s business.

“I will not play your territory game. Flayn is mine,” the stranger says in a low drawl, stretching each word like speaking is an effort. This guy is really starting to piss Leonie off.

The creature—Flayn, apparently, though Leonie is still unsure _what_ it is—flinches at the man’s words, knocking over the mop and bucket. It clatters to the ground, the sound shattering some thickness in the air that leaves Leonie’s head spinning, and nobody dares move in the ringing silence that follows. Ferdinand, gaping like a fish and palming a bag of pre-sliced pepperoni like a stress ball, is suddenly aware of the incredible creature in his kitchen. Leonie meets his openly dumbfounded gaze coolly, and he opens his mouth to speak.

The stranger doesn’t let him.

The sallow man’s eyes go bright, and he extends a hand into empty air over the marble countertop sharply. Ferdinand is pulled bodily forwards with a yelp, skidding over the water, until his polo is in the stranger’s fist. The man presses a thumb to his forehead for a beat, and Ferdinand slumps backwards with all of his weight, toppling onto the tiles like a cheerful orange tree trunk.

Flayn yelps, voice high and distinctly childlike. “Please—leave me alone!”

Shit, shit, _shit._ Leonie didn’t even hear the guy let off a spell, and that thing can speak? Oh, this job has just jumped up a pay grade or three.

“You are taking too many risks. I will bring you back, or I will kill you now.”

“I will not go back!”

The stranger points at the creature, and Leonie’s fear bubbles into righteous, stubborn anger.

“Alright, that’s _enough_ ,” Leonie declares, and barges the guy with her shoulder before he can do something nasty to the poor thing. He stumbles off-kilter long enough for Leonie to trace a simple sleep rune in the air over his chest. The magic drains her, and fatigue seeps into her limbs the moment the spell hooks. She waits for his eyelids to flutter, for his weight to shift, _something, damn it,_ but he stares down his nose at her with venomous disdain.

Ah. So maybe he’s not susceptible to the basic stuff—Leonie probably could have guessed that much, if he can use magic with his fucking thumb. Should’ve gone for the gun.

In that moment of distraction the creature leaps at them, and Leonie realises that what she’d mistaken for a fat lump was actually a coil of soft flesh; it draws long in the air, stretching into an elegant arc until three sets of claw-tipped legs splay towards the sallow man who is, evidently, an asshole. They tumble to the ground together with a distinctly wet slap, fans of gold-tipped seaweed sailing through the air with a weightless kind of ease. The creature ends up coiled over him like a disgusting snake, roiling with the effort of keeping him down.

Leonie’s thought process has dissolved into variations of _oh no that is definitely not a salamander._ She drags her warded pistol from her fanny pack and holds it steady at the pair of them. (She really wishes she had time to ward her ears as well, but she didn’t think things would go pear-shaped so quickly this evening.)

It’s a small blessing, all things considered, but the gun proves unnecessary.

Flayn drags its tongue across the man’s eyelids, and he stops struggling all at once. He’s not unconscious, Leonie realises; he’s looking somewhere past them all, eyes unfocused, breathing steady. A tiny, absent smile tugs at his lips, and Leonie has to bite back a shocked laugh. He looks like he’s never smiled in his life.

Flayn raises its head proudly, eyes sparkling with mischief. Leonie wonders, not for the first time, why she ever bothers sticking her nose into magical nonsense.

“A thousand thanks! A million, even! He will come back soon, so we should leave quickly,” Flayn says. The voice comes sweet and clear as a bell from that fishlike face, but there’s a small quaver to it that betrays some lingering fear.

“Hold on a moment,” Leonie says warily. She lowers the gun, but doesn’t put it away. She’s still got a pizzeria to keep safe. “I didn’t want that guy to hurt you, but you need to tell me what’s going on. Are you dangerous?” Seems an obvious question to ask, but Leonie has had a shocking amount of success with it in the past.

Flayn only giggles, which definitely doesn’t answer her question.

Leonie thinks she blinks, but she isn’t sure—there’s a _pop,_ and in the next moment, in the creature’s place over the dazed stranger, stands a decidedly human-looking girl: barefoot, grinning nervously, and sopping wet. Rivers of seafoam green hair tumble over her shoulders, and her yellow sundress has definitely seen better days. The girl watches the man a few moments longer, steadying her breathing.

“You’re—just a kid,” Leonie says unhelpfully. She wonders where the fuck Annette got that salamander tip. “Are you a shapeshifter?”

Flayn beams. “I am! How could you tell?”

Leonie gives her a flat look, earning another giggle. “Do you eat people?”

Flayn considers this for a moment too long, which makes Leonie nervous. “No,” she says finally. “I have not been in this realm long enough to try.”

“Is that a joke?” Leonie isn’t impressed. She doesn’t have time for word games today. And, shit, another _realm?_ She’s definitely going to have a real conversation with Annette about double-checking her jobs before sending them to normal-ass saps who owe favours. “Look, I just need to know if I shouldn’t wake this guy up and let you finish your little fight on your own. I’m not about to let you loose on the city if you’re going to cause trouble.”

Flayn’s smile weathers a little. She draws herself to her full height, which is little more than the average grade schooler’s, and a sharp kind of intelligence flashes in her eyes. “Allow me to thank you properly, then, for coming to my rescue. I will not eat anybody while I am here; I just wanted to… I will not cause trouble, I swear it. Now, please, we should not linger.”

Negotiating isn’t Leonie’s strong suit, but it’s a sight better than shooting kids. She stashes her gun (not that it would’ve done much on something from _another realm_ , anyway) and jabs a thumb toward the man on the floor. “Is this jerk going to hurt anyone else when he wakes up?”

Flayn starts like she hadn’t thought of it, and glances at the man warily. “He tends only to eat people who cross him,” she says evasively.

Right. Leonie can only assume she’s made that magical asshole’s shit list. (And he _eats_ people? She’s definitely going to have a drink or three when she gets home.) “Look, kid, I can’t just leave him here. Or you, for that matter. If you’re gonna start fights in the middle of a perfectly ordinary pizza joint, I’m going to have to bring you to—”

“Please, do not bring anyone else here!” Flayn says shrilly, and Leonie lets herself be interrupted (she’s not heartless). “Or me anywhere else, at that! Please—hold on a moment.”

If this kid has a solution to this frankly exhausting problem, Leonie isn’t going to stop her. She folds her arms, not quite expecting anything in particular, but Flayn manages to surprise her still. Flayn kneels beside the dazed man and, with a small _pop_ , they both disappear completely.

Leonie barely has time to scratch her head before Flayn reappears, standing triumphantly with her fists on her hips.

“What was that?” Leonie asks lamely.

“I put him in a lake! He will not trouble us or anyone else further tonight.”

“A lake.” Flayn hums a cheerful affirmation, and Leonie tries not to gape. “Please tell me you didn’t just drown a man.”

“Of course not! He is simply inconvenienced.” The girl is thoroughly impressed with herself.

“…Alright,” Leonie says weakly. She feels very out of her depth here. “And tomorrow? Is he going to hunt you down in a grocery store next? Or, shi—uh, shoot, he’s not going to come after me, is he?”

“He will not, and I will be more careful in the future as well,” Flayn declares. Then she looks away and twirls her fingers together with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “In truth, I was drawn by the smell of this place, and I had not realised… I was unlucky tonight, but he is not as good at tracking me as he thinks he is. And his grudges are fleeting.”

“Look kid, I’m going to be honest. That guy was an asshole and nobody deserves to be treated like that—but you clearly aren’t from around here. You look like a runaway,” Leonie says bluntly. “That guy said you were taking risks. I need you to be a little honest with me now that you’re safe.”

Flayn doesn’t flinch, but her composure withers a little. Her eyes rove over the rust-coloured tiles. “It is… complicated. I left my home abruptly. I will go back, in time, but…” she falters.

“On your own terms?” Leonie can understand that.

Flayn smiles sadly.

Leonie rubs her temples. “I think I’m almost ready to take your word for it,” she admits. Everything’s starting to go fuzzy at the edges. “I’m going to let you go—” not that she’s much capable of restraining this kid in the first place “—but no more trouble, got it?”

Flayn splays her fingers over her chest and says, “Cross my heart.”

“Alright.” Leonie hesitates a moment. “And take care of yourself, okay? Get some dry clothes or something.”

With the most pressing situation kind-of-dealt-with (she’ll call Annette about it later), Leonie vaults the counter to check on that poor unconscious staff member. Flayn watches her curiously. Leonie kneels heavily in the puddle, soaking her knees, and checks his breathing—slow and sound, like he’s in a deep sleep. His ridiculous volume of hair might’ve cushioned his fall. Leonie huffs a sigh of relief and rocks back to rest on her haunches.

Leonie isn’t quite searching for Flayn, but she cranes her neck to make sure nothing else unexpected has popped up. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to get all her bad luck out of the way in one go, she thinks; that’d free up some time in the future for a hobby that doesn’t involve killing things or negotiating with awkward magical children.

Leonie starts, shocked to find the kid perched over her on the counter already, swinging her legs. She hadn’t heard her move.

“He is enchanted asleep, but the magic on him is thinning,” Flayn points out, gesturing to Ferdinand with her chin. “He will wake soon, and he will have had either the most wonderful or the most terrible dreams.” Her eyes shine with mischief, and the idea seems to amuse her.

“I thought you’d leave,” Leonie admits on an exhale. Some part of her had _hoped_ Flayn would leave. Taking care of a kid shapeshifter wasn’t on the agenda today.

“Would you like me to leave? I had hoped to try a pizza, but I will not linger if you believe my presence will cause trouble.”

“We can’t ask this poor guy to make pizza after all that,” Leonie says sternly. Honestly, though, she had been looking forward to her mega pepperoni as well. The fragrant meat is soaking on the floor now. What a waste.

Flayn looks crestfallen, and Leonie feels like she just kicked a puppy.

Leonie frowns stubbornly at herself, trying not to lose a stupid internal argument to her own sentimentality. “Where were you planning on going after this, anyway?”

Flayn shrugs, kicking her feet out. “Perhaps to another place that has pizza. After smelling it for so long, I admit that I was looking forward to trying it.”

“And where were you going to sleep tonight?”

“I was not going to sleep at all. I try to avoid it where possible. Perhaps I would spend some time in the park, away from people, to answer your question,” Flayn adds, misinterpreting Leonie’s frown.

Leonie sighs deeply, ducking away from Flayn’s kicking feet. She’s having a hard time convincing herself to leave well enough alone. This kid is bound to keep running into trouble if Leonie let her run around the city like that, drenched and awkward with that mischievous, sunbright smile. “Look,” she starts, convincing herself that this is a good idea, “I still don’t like the idea of you wandering around the city on your own. I’m not going to cover for you if you cause trouble, but if you want, you can spend some time at my place until you figure out where you need to go next.” Better than her getting scooped up by ill-intentioned strangers. Or well-intentioned ones, if they aren’t aware of the scope of the enigma that is Flayn.

Flayn’s expression is openly delighted. She steeples her fingers over a grin.

“What.”

“You are far kinder than any human I have met so far!”

“That’s a pretty low bar,” Leonie admits. “So is that a yes, or are you going to go wander around in a park for the foreseeable future?”

Flayn stands up on the countertop, towering over the room as far as her little body will allow. She is clear of worry or fear now, caught up in the excitement of having made a new friend. “I thank you for your offer, and I accept gratefully! I am Flayn, though you likely already knew that. Might I have your name?”

“Uh,” Leonie hesitates. That particular phrase rings with a vague and dreadful familiarity. “You’re not a faerie, are you?”

Flayn giggles like the chiming of a bell. Well, shit.

  


\--

  


A full week later, Leonie wins the lottery.

She stares at the scratch ticket in disbelief. That’s two weeks rent and a nice bottle of whiskey in her hands, and it was just flitting about the bowling alley parking lot. Maybe it fell out of a car. She wonders what poor sap lost out on such a lucky win.

Fucking faeries. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm xara, and I love Leonie a lot. I was inspired by Flayn Week 2020 to write this spinoff of an AU (starring Ashe and Annette) that I'm working on early, but I guess it doesn't really count as a spinoff if the main fic isn't written yet? It's meant to be nice and fun and standalone though, and I had mega fun writing it. Honestly this whole AU is just a self-indulgent ballpit of mythologies.
> 
> Find me on twitter @/laperclip for more art and some fic. I will sword fight you or kiss you on the forehead, whichever you prefer.


End file.
